


gentle, gentle

by thundersquall



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bruises, Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Paddling, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8586511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: Objectively, it's hot as hell, yeah, Patrick asking to be spanked, wanting Jonny's hands on him like that, wanting Jonny to take him apart in all the ways; but it takes him a while to get over that first hurdle, the deep-seated fear of hurting or damaging Patrick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> reminder: do take note of the warnings and tags! but to ease the pain (heh), there is some fluffy schmoop at the end?
> 
> also, this is all [celly's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Celly1995/pseuds/Celly1995) fault. oh - and happy early birthday to patrick, i suppose! he gets spanking for his birthday fic!

The first time Patrick asks for it - pleads, actually, his face buried in Jonny's pillow and voice soft and embarrassed - Jonny doesn't really know what to do. Objectively, it's hot as hell, yeah, Patrick asking to be _spanked_ , wanting Jonny's hands on him like that, wanting Jonny to take him apart in all the ways; but it takes him a while to get over that first hurdle, the deep-seated fear of hurting or damaging Patrick. 

He's gentle at first, tender almost, landing light slaps that both he and Patrick barely feel, but Patrick's skin gets nice and pink anyway; and the sight of Patrick's glutes rippling and tightening underneath his marked-up skin as he comes hits Jonny like a visceral punch to the gut. 

He gets more bold after that, escalating the pain in increments each time Patrick wants it. He's not ashamed to admit that he did some research online; he's never done this before with any other partner, but he wants to make it good for Patrick, needs to make sure he doesn't go overboard and hurt him too much. It's the first time Jonny's known about things like safewords and subspace and aftercare, but the research helps. He gets confident, he learns to hold back or put his strength into each smack, he learns that there are different types of bruises he can put on Patrick's ass depending on how and where he hits.

It used to scare him, how red Patrick's skin would get after, how hot he found it, like the marks were tangible, visible proof of Patrick belonging to him and wanting him. He doesn't get scared anymore, not after the time he caught Patrick jerking off in their bathroom, body twisted so he could stare at a softly darkening handprint on his ass, fingers pushed hard into the bruise.

They don't do it often, obviously; only when they have several days between games, enough time for Patrick to stop moving stiffly and gingerly, or when Patrick _needs_ it and begs Jonny for it. Jonny makes sure to be extra careful with him at those times.

He'd probably have been perfectly happy doing this all his life, spanking Patrick whenever he wants it, except one day when he's minding his own business and stretched out on the couch reading, and Patrick wanders out from the study and slings a leg over him, dropping his full weight unceremoniously onto Jonny's stomach.

"Oof," Jonny says, but he puts the magazine down anyway, hands reaching up to slide their way under the loose hem of Patrick's shirt. (It's _his_ shirt, he realises a second later.)

"So I was thinking," Patrick says without preamble.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Jonny says jokingly.

Patrick pinches him, right on his left nipple, and Jonny yelps. "Listen to me," Patrick says.

Jonny rubs at his nipple and frowns up at him. "I always do."

"I was thinking," Patrick repeats, "that we could try something else. Other than your hands, I mean."

Jonny blinks up at him, completely at sea. "What?" he asks.

There's a flush already settling high on Patrick's cheekbones, and he tongues at his lower lip; Jonny finds himself helplessly following the motion, and he almost misses it when Patrick says, "You know. When we - when you spank me."

They've been having sex for _years_ , since they were rookies; been in an exclusive, monogamous relationship for nearly four years; and living together for the last two, and Jonny still finds it fascinating how Patrick sometimes gets a little shy about how much he loves Jonny fucking him.

Then it dawns on him what Patrick's just said, and he blurts out, "You want me to do - what?"

"All I'm saying is, you're not the only one who knows how to use Google, okay," Patrick says snippily. "I just - found some things, and they look kind of interesting. Plus, this way it doesn't have to be so hard on your hands. We still need them for games, captain."

Jonny's slowly catching on, in synchronicity with the flush darkening Patrick's cheeks an ever deeper pink. "Oh," he says, and slides his hands completely under the loose t-shirt Patrick's wearing so they can settle on the warm, soft skin right where his back curves out into his ass. "Like what sort of things?"

"Like, I dunno," Patrick mumbles, and ducks his head. "Floggers. Paddles. Things like that."

Jonny's come across those things during the first heady, frantic days of his own research, of course, but only in passing, because he wasn't actively looking for implements. He thinks maybe he should start looking at them. "You want that?"

Patrick lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "It might be - I dunno," he says, and his voice is so soft by now Jonny has to concentrate to hear him. "It might be good. You can go hard - harder."

Jesus, the thought of Patrick wanting Jonny to spank him hard, to use an actual tool or whatever on him - Jonny's already hardening in his shorts, his cock distending the material until it's swollen against Patrick. Patrick wriggles back a tiny bit, a minute movement that has Jonny catching his breath at the feel of his cock catching on the tight curve of Patrick's ass.

"Yeah?" Patrick asks, looking down at him, teeth catching on and denting the soft plush shelf of his lip.

"Yeah," Jonny says, and pulls Patrick down to kiss him. He'd be crazy to say no.

\---

The thing is, it takes Jonny longer than he'd expected to find something suitable. There's a lot of stuff out there - a _lot_ \- but he vetoes them all for all sorts of reasons. He thinks of starting out with floggers first, but Patrick had specifically said he wanted Jonny to hit hard, and he's not going to get that from a flogger. 

He'd tried a belt after reading how to use one - one of his own that he seldom wears, thick and strappy with soft, supple black leather. He's not even disturbed by how scorching hot he found it, Patrick's back bowing with every snap of the belt across his ass, and the lovely purple stripes it left behind. Patrick had come so hard he'd teared up, and then informed Jonny that it was good but maybe it wasn't for him, because he prefers the feel of something big, heavy and strong landing on his ass, nearly encompassing each cheek, and belts are too thin for that. Jonny rules it out, along with canes, whips and switches right away.

That leaves paddles.

Truth be told, Jonny's a little worried about using a paddle on Patrick - they're nearly all made of wood, hard and unyielding, and they're not padded. They're going to pack a real bite to them. He mentions this to Patrick, and all Patrick does is widen his eyes and say, "But Jonny, that's _exactly_ what I want."

"But - "

"Jonny," Patrick says patiently, reaching out to encircle fingers around his wrist. "You've never hurt me before, and I know you won't ever. I trust you, okay?"

To be endowed with so much responsibility, to be responsible for so much fragile, uncompromising trust - it'd probably be a lot to handle, for anyone else. Jonny's used to stepping up to the plate and carrying the load, though. He supposes this is just one more thing in the myriad of things Patrick's already trusted him with.

\---

He eventually comes across this site that actually custom-makes implements. It's expensive, but the reviews online are great, and it's not like Jonny can't afford it. He shoots off an email to them right away, from his fake gmail account with a fake name that he uses when - well, honestly, he really only uses it to buy sex toys for Patrick.

They reply promptly, and after some back and forth about what Jonny's looking for, they ask him to come into their studio in LA to do some molds of his hand. 

"What the fuck," Jonny says out loud, startled. He hadn't quite expected that level of detail, to be honest, even for something custom-made. And also, it's fucking LA - he's not that worried about being recognised there, but how and where is he going to find the time to go all the way there for a couple of hours of molding or whatever?

Their next game in LA is six weeks away, when Jonny checks the schedule. He groans, and emails them the date he can make it. He has the afternoon free before the game, after morning practice - he can pretend he's going to get smoothies, or whatever, and get it done quick.

\---

The paddle arrives when they're out of town, playing in Minnesota and then Colorado. Their cleaner's signed for the package and left it right inside the door of their apartment, so Jonny nearly trips over it when he opens the door and steps in.

"What is it?" Patrick asks, looking over his shoulder.

"Dunno," Jonny grunts; he's tired and all he really wants to do is get out of his clothes and shower and crash in bed for like, ten hours. "Gonna go to the bathroom, open that and see what it is."

He stands for a long while under the shower - he's aching from the games and the flights, there's a black-blue bruise on his ribcage where Dumba sticked him, and the hot water beating down on him feels good. He's less tightly strung by the time he steps out into their bedroom - and then he stops short.

Patrick's sitting on the bed, holding something black about the length of his arm. He's turning it over slowly in his hands, and with a jolt Jonny realises it's the paddle he ordered, months ago. He hadn't told Patrick about it, wanted it to be a surprise, and the first thing he feels is disappointment that he didn't get to give that to Patrick; but then he sees the way Patrick's touching it, all careful reverence. He looks up as Jonny approaches, and his eyes have darkened from their regular blue.

"I meant to give that to you as a surprise," Jonny says; he watches Patrick's strong, capable fingers trail down the edge of the paddle, almost in a caress. His other hand's holding on to the handle, and from here Jonny can see the grooves cut into it, for his own fingers. He reaches down and wraps his hand over Patrick's, fits their fingers into the grooves.

"It's cut to fit my grip, you know," Jonny says, and he's not even surprised at how low his voice sounds.

Patrick swallows; the dry click of it is nearly audible in the quiet of the room. 

"D'you like how it feels?" Jonny asks. He knows those guys do good work, and the paddle looks good and strong, the ebony polished to a smooth shine. Patrick runs his fingers lightly over it again, and doesn't say a word, but he's smiling. He turns the paddle over, and there's the thing Jonny asked the guys to cut in for him, a small raised backwards 19 centred on the blade of the paddle. A good sharp hit would imprint that the right way round against delicate skin.

"I like it," Patrick says finally, still smiling, and strokes over the mirrored 19 with his fingertips.

\---

Jonny doesn't get to use the paddle on Patrick until a couple of weeks later, when they've got four days off after a home game. He tries it out a couple of times on himself in private, when Patrick's not home; whacking it against his palm or his thigh, testing the heft of it in his hand, feeling out how much strength he can use. He's pretty sure Patrick can take whatever he chooses to give, and they have their safeword; but sometimes Patrick goes down so deep Jonny's a little afraid he won't remember the safeword, and he needs to know when to pull back.

\---

They play the Rangers, and it turns out to be a complete shitshow right from puck drop: they can't seem to connect a decent pass, Seabs gets crunched against the boards and has to leave the game for the last eight minutes of the second period, and Lundqvist is like a fucking brick wall. Crow keeps the Rangers to three goals, but Jonny knows in his heart it could be a lot more, and he's not surprised but still pissed as all hell when they get shut out.

Patrick's jittery on the drive home, shaking his knee like it's a compulsion and licking his lips, and Jonny has to reach over and grip his thigh to still his shaking. Patrick got all of two shots on goal the entire game - he didn't play _badly_ , Jonny doesn't think Patrick ever really does, but Patrick sometimes gets all caught up in his head after what he deems as a bad game.

It's usually Jonny's job, too, to get him out of it.

When they get home, Patrick slumps onto the sectional and starts flicking through channels on the remote, still in his game day suit, his face dark, his entire body humming with tension. Jonny orders Patrick curtly to get out of his clothes and shower.

Patrick stares up at him, and Jonny can tell it's on the tip of his tongue to argue, to push back. He doesn't want Patrick pushing back tonight.

"Patrick," he says calmly, loosening his tie, "take a fucking shower."

Patrick looks at the motion of his fingers pulling the knot of his tie open, and when he glances up at Jonny again after several long moments, the stubbornness is still there in the stiff set of his jaw. But there's hunger in his eyes now, and want, and Jonny slides the tie off, wrapping it around his hand.

"I'm not going to say it again," he says, keeping his voice at the same low, calm volume as before. He never has to raise his voice at Patrick, and he doesn't now, and Patrick gets to his feet, standing before him with his hands limply dangling at his sides.

"Ten minutes, that's all you get," Jonny says simply, and Patrick complies this time, no hesitation. 

Jonny waits till he can hear the sound of the shower going before he strips the rest of the way and heads to their bedroom to retrieve the paddle from where they keep it. There's a black silicone strap looped through the handle, and he hooks this around his wrist. He'd told Patrick ten minutes, but he returns to the living room and waits till the sounds of water stop, till he can hear Patrick rustling about in the bedroom and then go still and quiet, and waits some more. It's probably closer to twenty-five minutes by the time he strides into their bedroom, paddle dangling from his wrist. 

Patrick's naked in their bed, face down and ass up, knees tucked under him and arms stretched ahead of him so his fists are brushing the headboard. He'll stay in this position as long as Jonny wants him to.

Jonny spends a few more minutes just staring: Patrick's gorgeous, all fair smooth skin still warm from his shower and curls wet and dark gold. He's not a big guy, never has been, but he's broad and solid, his back beautifully muscled as he stretches out in his position. Jonny's eyes are drawn, as if by gravity, to the round contours of his perfect ass, the skin there unblemished and pale.

Jonny wants to mark him up and let him feel - and see - it for days.

He approaches from the side, fisting his cock slowly - it's been half hard for a while, but he gets it nearly to full hardness, pinching his foreskin closed and rubbing the little pocket he makes over his cockhead before he slides it back down. He could probably do this - and _has_ done it, jerk off over Patrick's body spread so nicely for him, but he needs to do more.

"Turn over, Patrick," he orders, and when Patrick doesn't move, he swats him across his left buttock with the paddle.

It's not hard - Jonny barely put in enough to make it do more than surprise Patrick a little - but Patrick makes a muffled gasp, and for a second he lifts his ass higher as if chasing the smack.

"Turn," Jonny says again.

Patrick does it, dropping his body slowly to the bed and then rolling over until he's on his back, blinking up at Jonny. His blue eyes are hazy; he's going to go down so fast, and Jonny's going to put him there.

Jonny straddles his chest first, and leans forward so he can rub his cock against Patrick's soft, slack lips. "Open up," he says, and pats his cheek with the paddle for good measure. It makes Patrick's mouth drop open on a soft moan, and Jonny pushes in, rough, not letting up, not waiting to see if Patrick can take it. He _knows_ Patrick can take it. 

He keeps his eyes trained on Patrick; he needs to see this, Patrick's lush red mouth sliding down, down over thick cock, until he bumps gently against the neatly trimmed nest of dark hair at the base of Jonny's dick.

Patrick lifts his eyes to him, and swallows.

"Shit," Jonny says, arching unconsciously to push himself deeper into Patrick's mouth. Fuck, Patrick deepthroats like a fucking boss. "Yeah, that's - yeah, just like that, babe."

Patrick pulls off slowly, making sure Jonny can see and feel every second of his hot wet mouth dragging over his cock, and there's almost nothing better Jonny likes in the world than this, the sight of Patrick's frankly obscene mouth wrapped around his cock. He pulls off entirely to tongue at the head, and when he closes his lips around it again, Jonny reaches out to slide a finger in at the corner of his mouth.

"God, yeah," he sighs when Patrick begins sucking, his mouth tight around his cockhead and finger. "You're so good at this."

Patrick hums pleasedly, and pulls off again to lick at the glistening wetness he's left on Jonny's cock.

"So fucking good," Jonny says, and slaps the flat of the paddle lightly against Patrick's cheek; and then he has to bite back a groan when Patrick turns to nuzzle at it, his tongue sliding along the polished black blade until it reaches the raised 19 on it and licks over.

He lets Patrick suck his cock for a while more, and when he feels his balls begin to tighten he taps the paddle against his cheek again. "That's enough," he says, and watches as Patrick reluctantly lets his cock slip out of his mouth. There's a glistening strand of spit stretching from Patrick's lips to the head of his cock, and Patrick licks it off, never taking his eyes off Jonny.

"How many do you want today?" he asks, tapping the paddle against his palm; sometimes Patrick wants just enough to make his skin sting and tingle for a few hours, in which case it doesn't take many smacks. And there are times when he wants to be sore for _days_. The paddle makes a soft dull thud each time it makes contact with Jonny's hand, and Patrick follows the movements hungrily.

Patrick shakes his head. "I don't know," he says, voice raspy with deepthroating Jonny. "I don't know, however many you want. Just don't make me think, Jonny."

"I won't," Jonny promises, climbing off him and making him turn over, back to how he was when Jonny had first come in.

He bends and kisses Patrick first on one ass cheek and then the other, and then spreads him open so he can look at his tiny pink hole. Patrick shudders when he licks over it, and Jonny keeps his tongue pressed against it when he gets the paddle in his hand and swings it lightly against the back of his thigh.

Patrick clenches up so much Jonny's tongue is caught for a moment; and then he relaxes slowly, tremblingly. It drives Jonny crazy each time, how wild Patrick gets for this, and he straightens up so he can tuck his cock between Patrick's cheeks, wet with spit, and slide it over his hole. The next time he lands a hit, Patrick clenches up the same way, only now he's tight, clutching heat around Jonny's cock, and Jonny needs to stop or he'll come before Patrick does.

He decides on just a little bit more, draws back his arm and hits Patrick three times in a quick flurry, snapping his wrist so the smacks land with loud cracks but don't do more than sting and redden his skin slightly, and by the end of it Patrick's gasping and squeezing tight around his dick.

"I don't know if I can actually do that properly at the same time," Jonny says, almost conversationally except for how gravelly his voice is getting, "but next time I'm gonna try paddling you while I fuck you. Gotta feel great, the way you squeeze down on me each time you get a hit, eh?"

Patrick doesn't reply, but his entire body's wound up tight like a spring, trembling slightly. Jonny slides his dick out from the tunnel of Patrick's cheeks with some regret, and smacks him again - _hard_ , this time, putting his bicep into it and really laying it on him.

Patrick actually _shouts_ , and sways where he's perched on his knees, his torso dropping to the bed. When Jonny lays his palm over where he'd just hit, it's hot to the touch, already turning red.

"So good," Jonny whispers, and gives it to him again, soft soft hard soft, and Patrick starts making these choked, barely audible _ah-ah-ah_ sounds with every hit.

Jonny finds himself breathing hard, and bends down to lick over the red-speckled skin. When he reaches around to grasp Patrick's cock, it's thick and blood-hot and wet at the tip.

"You fucking love this," Jonny says, still quiet, and paddles him across the backs of his thighs; Patrick lifts his shins off the bed, toes curling. 

Patrick turns his face into the pillow, and Jonny smacks him again at the same spot. "Don't turn away," he demands. "I want to see your face."

Silently, Patrick moves so his cheek's pressed against the pillow, but Jonny can see him clearly - the dark pink flush on his cheeks, the telltale shimmer in his eyes that tells Jonny he's starting to tear up. He lands another two hard hits in quick succession, watches as Patrick bites his lip, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, but he doesn't make a sound this time. He's always nearly silent when he's really getting into being spanked. Jonny used to find it really disconcerting, especially since Patrick's loud when they fuck; but now he knows it means Patrick's going deep under, into that part of his mind where there's nothing but delirious pleasure and sparking hot pain and _Jonny_. 

He keeps his eyes on Patrick's face as he thumbs the raised 19 on the paddle, and draws back to let loose a flurry of hits on the soft fleshy spot just below where his ass curves out from his back. Eight in all, he counts mentally, alternating soft stingy slaps with strong swings on the same spot. Patrick's body jerks at each one, and by the end of it his back is arched into a taut bow, like he can't make up his mind if he wants to shy away from the spanking or beg for more. He's honest to god crying now, lashes darkly clumped together with his tears, his mouth red and open and drooling onto the pillow. His muscles are locked tight, shifting clearly under his skin, and he's so gorgeous and built so perfect that Jonny feels punch-drunk with want. 

When he looks down again, he sees that he's hit the 19 into Patrick's ass, and the number is starkly prominent amidst the red-purple-pink of Patrick's skin. Jonny has to take a moment to breathe, because - fuck. It's like he's _branded_ Patrick as his, and it's only temporary but it's fucking beautiful, deep wine red and purpling at the edges, like it wants to stand out even more. 

"Fuck," he says. "That's so - _Patrick_ \- " He knows Patrick can't see it, but he just has to, and leans forward to rubs his cock over the smooth, burning hot patch of skin where the 19 is. His precome leaves a glistening trail across the speckled bruise, and he rubs it into the skin with his thumb, knowing that it'll hurt a little, as tender and sore as Patrick already is. He swipes the last of his precome up on his thumb and presses it against Patrick's lips; Patrick lets Jonny push it into his mouth, sweet and pliant and willing, and sucks.

"You're mine," Jonny says, and Patrick nods, slow, like it's an effort for him to move. "You're - you belong to me, you're _mine_."

Patrick blinks tearfully up at him, his eyes blown black and hazy, and whispers in a voice that sounds like it's been dragged over stone, "'M yours."

It's just - it's so much, Patrick trusting him like this, and Jonny has to clench his fists to stop his hands trembling; he feels like he's been slammed in the gut with a bolt of heat.

"You okay?" he whispers. "You want more?" He strokes his hand over the smooth hot planes of Patrick's ass, and Patrick nods.

"Good boy," Jonny murmurs. "You're such a good boy for me, Pat."

Patrick nods again, and his eyes flutter closed, blinking away the tears. 

Jonny looks at him and tries to gauge how much more Patrick can take. The skin on his ass is already splotched dark with bruises, but Jonny knows that paddle marks can look worse than they actually feel. But he also doesn't want to go overboard, push Patrick under too deep, or go too far on their first time with the paddle.

So he smacks Patrick on the backs of his thighs instead, giving him short sharp swats that won't bruise but will pink up his skin prettily, and Patrick still jerks like he's on strings and Jonny's pulling on each one of them.

When the skin is warm and flushed, striped with faint welts of red, Jonny undoes the strap of the paddle from around his wrist with some difficulty, he's trembling a little; he sets the paddle aside, and kneels down to lick over the tender, inflamed skin of Patrick's ass.

"So good," he murmurs again, "you're the best, Patrick", and licks over his hole, no longer tightly clenched but loose and slightly open, and gets the tip of his tongue into him, softly sucking, while he reaches under to take hold of Patrick's hard, leaking cock.

It takes two, maybe three pulls of his hand before Patrick's coming explosively all over it, his cock swelling in Jonny's grip, back arching prettily as he pushes himself back onto Jonny's mouth and lets Jonny stroke him off. He comes so hard Jonny thinks he blacks out for a second, maybe, because his entire body goes slack and limp and he just crashes facedown into the bed. But before Jonny can touch him, his eyes flutter open and he sighs, long and loud, like he's fucking _satisfied_ , like he's pleased.

"Fuck," Jonny swears, and wraps his hand around his own cock, wet with Patrick's come. It doesn't take him long either, not with Patrick spread open in front of him, his number branded on his ass and the dark bruises that Jonny put there still hot to the touch; and when he comes, it's on Patrick's ass and on his number, covering it with pearly stripes of come.

He runs shaking fingers through the mess - gentle and soft, so as not to worsen the pain - and when he's got them coated and slick he slips two fingers into Patrick's open, yielding hole, so relaxed that he can push them in without much effort.

Patrick moans, the first sound Jonny's heard from him in a while, and he slides his fingers out slowly.

"Hey," he whispers, arranging himself so he can lie down next to Patrick and tug him gently to his chest, and Patrick blinks up at him, still looking like he's been knocked out of this world. Jonny smooths the loose, sweaty curls back from his forehead and kisses him; on his cheek, his nose, his lips, and his wet eyes. 

"I love you," he says. "You're so good, I love you - " and he keeps murmuring it into Patrick's hair, the skin of his forehead, until Patrick starts to come back to himself a little more, and his eyes begin to clear.

Patrick's still floppy and boneless, but he manages to lift an arm and curl it around Jonny's bicep. "Love you," he says, all slurred and exhausted, and Jonny holds him close and kisses him until he can ask for water. He springs out of bed to fetch water and a warm towel to wipe Patrick down with, and a tub of cooling salve he's found to be excellent for bruising.

He gathers Patrick back into his arms when he's done taking care of him, and Patrick clings to his warmth like he's starving for it. "You feel okay?" he asks, kissing him again.

"Yes," Patrick says, muffled into his chest. "Jonny - thank you."

"I love you so much," Jonny says in reply.

\---

"It's - intense," Patrick says thoughtfully, resting sideways on the soft sofa as they eat dinner.

Jonny's asked him how it was, if he went too far - the bruises looked absolutely horrific this morning, all black-purple, even the number 19, even though Patrick insists that the pain's okay and he can more than deal with it.

"Too much?"

Patrick just shrugs. "I like it though," he says. "We'll save it for the times I really need it, okay? When your hands aren't enough."

"Yeah, that's what I think too," Jonny says, and looks down at his fingers, flexing them into fists.

Patrick reaches out and twines his fingers through Jonny's, running his thumb over his knuckles. "I love your hands," he says simply.

Jonny's heart gives a little thump in his chest, and it's all he can do to smile helplessly at Patrick and hold on tight to his hand and think: _I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> [this ](http://cdn2.bigcommerce.com/n-zfvgw8/cmvbim4q/products/146/images/642/pdp4b__58873.1460509198.1280.1280.jpg?c=2) is how their paddle looks like, except black in colour.
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](http://kanerboo.tumblr.com)!


End file.
